Man Of War

Fairbrother frowned. ‘He has a name, has he not?’

‘Heinrici.’

‘Yes, I know it is Heinrici. If you would use it rather than “this German” you might become better disposed towards him. In any case, I rather thought you approved of Germans.’

‘Of course I approve.’

‘The most faithful fellows, by all accounts.’

‘Yes, indeed, though—’

‘Well perhaps you might admit that Elizabeth may admire that quality too.’

Hervey took the glass from the steward, and a long sip of it to gain a little time: his friend was distracting him with superficially reasonable propositions. ‘Why were you looking so discomposed when I returned? And still do.’

Fairbrother stifled a sigh, biting his lip and fair rolling his eyes. Hervey knew at once he was steeling himself to something.

‘I went to Mr Wilberforce’s this morning, and he received me very civilly, but abed. He had a severe chill. I had not thought that he was such an age, which was remiss of me of course. I stayed only a little while; we resolved to meet again when he was better. And then I went to Greenwich, instead of tomorrow. I told you that I’d learned that Admiral Holmes’s papers were there, and I wished to see them.’

Hervey nodded: he recalled the intention well.

Fairbrother breathed in deep before resuming. ‘Well, in the course of that visit I was shown the hospital – I never saw such a noble place – and on the door of one of the officers’ rooms was the name of your friend, Peto.’

Hervey’s face at once betrayed alarm.

Fairbrother’s changed from resolution to sadness. ‘It was pitiful, Hervey. So active a man as I heard you so often describe, yet reduced to . . .’He fell silent.

Hervey, gathering his own strength for the question, was some time before he could reply. ‘What is it? Are you able to say precisely? He is wounded, is he, or is it an infection – something from the east?’

Fairbrother nodded. ‘He is wounded, really very grievously. He has lost an arm, and the left is still badly shattered. And he has not the use of his legs. The surgeons do not know why.’

Hervey groaned – a long, hopeless sigh of despair. He made to rise. ‘I must go at once.’

‘No, Hervey,’ said Fairbrother, reaching out a hand to grasp his friend’s knee. ‘He was dosed with morphium as I left. The surgeon said to give him a peaceful night.’

Hervey sat back and emptied his glass. ‘Was the surgeon able to say what had happened? Why have we not known before now?’

Fairbrother sat back, too, and beckoned to the steward for more whiskey. ‘It seems he made his lieutenant keep his name from the casualty returns until the following day, by which time Codrington had sent his despatch. The ship’s surgeon thought he would not live more than a day or so. He removed the arm and filled him with laudanum, and after ten days or so, though he was still very fevered, he was transferred to a brig and taken to Malta. He was brought to Greenwich not ten days ago.’

‘Were you able to speak with him?’

‘I was, yes. I told him of our acquaintance . . . and Elizabeth.’

Hervey groaned. ‘What did he say of her?’

Fairbrother’s voice almost broke in the reply. ‘He asked to see you, so that he might tell you he wished to release Elizabeth from the engagement.’

Hervey sighed, loud, and shook his head. ‘Was there ever such decency as in that man? Oh, God!’

‘The very greatest nobility.’

Hervey gritted his teeth. ‘I shall see him – tomorrow; and so shall Elizabeth. Let her see for herself what duty calls a man to do – and judge for herself what a woman’s response should be!’

Fairbrother looked troubled. ‘Hervey, I don’t think—’

‘No, Fairbrother: I am utterly determined on it!’

XIX

RAIN ON SAIL

Next day

Hervey engaged a chaise for Greenwich, which proved a longer and more trying journey than he had imagined. Scarcely a word was spoken between brother and sister in the two hours that it took to drive there. Even Fairbrother fell quiet after his attempts at generating conversation failed, so that he resolved instead to be their good supporter, though as a silent buttress.

Hervey looked severe but composed. Fairbrother perfectly understood: he knew that his friend had scarcely slept for thinking of the consequences both of Peto’s wounds and of the reunion. Elizabeth, on the other hand, looked as gentle a woman as ever she was, but most ill at ease. Fairbrother wondered that her certainty in her new-found love (he hoped very much to be able to meet Heinrici soon) did not arm her more for the ordeal that was to come. But he had not been privy to the meeting of brother and sister the morning before, and certainly not in the evening, when Hervey had taken her the news. He could only imagine what effect his friend’s commanding assurance had on a sister who deferred to him as, in most respects, paterfamilias.